


It Comes Naturally

by thisismydesignn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Missing Scene, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismydesignn
Summary: "If you were here, I might even give you a hug."A missing scene from the end of Thor: Ragnarok.





	It Comes Naturally

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Naturally](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_YR4dKArgo) by Selena Gomez, because that song will never not make me think of Thor and Loki.

“If you were here, I might even give you a hug,” Thor says, tossing the stopper in Loki’s direction. It’s almost an afterthought, second nature at this point; he’s half surprised, half not at all when Loki’s hand snaps up to catch it in midair.

“I’m here,” Loki says, voice soft, almost hesitant, though his gaze doesn’t waver. Thor holds out only a moment before he lets his self-control crumble, crossing the room to pull his brother into a tight embrace. _I missed this_ , he doesn’t say, doesn’t dare; doesn’t need to, he thinks, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet Loki’s eyes as he forces himself to step back, turn away. He tosses the question back over his shoulder, trying too hard to sound casual, failing miserably: “Drink with me?”

He looks back just long enough to see Loki incline his head, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile as he acquiesces. Thor turns away before Loki can catch his gaze, busying himself with a second glass of amber liquid instead.

Their fingers brush as Thor hands Loki a drink identical to his own, sending heat like lightning sparking through his veins. He holds his breath, half-anticipating literal sparks to manifest, but the moment passes with just the clink of Loki’s glass against his own, voice like honey murmuring gently—perhaps, even, sincerely— “For Asgard.”

They settle in beside one another, not quite at ease, though the drinks help; they speak in circles, but as Thor watches Loki’s lips curve into smiles borne of affection rather than malice, he wonders if perhaps there’s hope for them yet.

Their conversation turns gradually to the past, to mischief and moments they’d forgotten in the chaos of recent years; their tongues grow loose, their words less guarded, even as they dance around recollections that strike too close to the heart of everything. By the time silence falls between them, it’s like a thousand years have passed, or perhaps no time at all— “Brother,” Loki says, cautious, but there are some lessons Thor will never learn.

He reaches out, curling a hand around the back of Loki’s neck to pull him in for a kiss that’s been far too long coming. He’s never managed to truly take Loki by surprise, but revels in his quick intake of breath, the briefest hesitation before he leans in, meeting Thor halfway, kissing him back with a hunger he’s never quite been able to sate. Loki’s tongue slips between Thor’s lips like a secret, like the thief he is, and he swallows his groan with a smirk that says everything but betrays nothing.

They’re both breathing hard when they pull apart, but they don’t stray far—Thor can still feel Loki’s breath on his lips as he murmurs, “I thought perhaps…” There are a million ways he could end that sentence, but he lets the silence speak for itself, lets Thor fill in the blanks on his own. “I never stopped,” Thor tells him, simply, and this time it’s Loki who closes the distance between them, climbing into Thor’s lap with a grace that belies his size, that never fails to stun Thor, even after all these years.

(He pauses just long enough to set their drinks aside; a few errant drops spill from Thor’s glass and Loki takes him by the wrist, lifting Thor’s hand to his mouth to catch the whiskey on his tongue. Thor groans as Loki takes his finger between his lips, torturously slow, and knows this time he feels it too—the heat between them, nothing short of a fucking wildfire.)

He pulls Loki down to him once more, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss that reminds them both of countless nights wrapped up in one another, wandering hands and promises they never dared speak aloud. Loki’s fingers spread across Thor’s chest, recalling the movement of his muscles as he would laugh; Thor bites at Loki’s lower lip, recalling all the trouble that mouth would get them in, growing up—yet always, always manage to get them out.

Loki makes a noise of frustration as his grasp seeks purchase in Thor’s hair, attempting to sink his fingers into long golden locks that no longer exist. Thor leans back just enough to raise his eyebrows at Loki; “This is going to take some getting used to,” he comments dryly, and Thor chuckles, winding his fingers into Loki’s hair (like he’s proving a point; hell, simply, because he can). “It’s growing on me,” Thor says, feeling Loki’s thumb press against, drag along the skin just beneath his eyepatch, sending an ache through his chest that has nothing to do with the wounds left behind by the day’s battle. He bites it back, leaning up to capture Loki’s lips once more, and all attempts at coherent conversation are lost in the friction between their bodies, the whiskey each of them can taste on the other’s tongue.

  


“Easier to let it burn?” Thor asks, after, echoing Loki’s words from back on Sakaar. He tries to sound lighthearted, indifferent, but Loki can hear the hurt in his voice—the fear that someday, _goodbye_ will last.

Loki knows better than to let Thor hear the pain in his. “This isn’t precisely what I had in mind,” he admits, head resting on Thor’s chest, bare leg draped over his, “But did you honestly expect that to be the end?”

 _It was the end_ , Thor thinks, _of so much,_ though not—

“Of us,” Loki clarifies, and it’s not the first time Thor has wondered if Loki can hear his thoughts.

“I missed you,” he says, finally, no longer content to leave the words unspoken. (He always was the first to give in.) Loki doesn’t respond, instead lifting his fingers to touch Thor’s cheek, to feel his grief, the memories bleeding through, pain amplified further the deeper he delves. “Stop that,” Thor tells him, but there’s no heat in it, not even an attempt to push Loki away. Still, Loki’s hand trails back to Thor’s chest of its own accord, choosing—for once—not to push his luck. “So what’s next, brother?” he asks instead, though apparently that’s not safe territory either. Thor tenses, his eye falling shut as he sighs his frustration, grip tightening on Loki’s shoulder. “Can we just—have this moment?” he pleads, sounding weary and vulnerable at once, both the boy Loki grew up beside and the man who’s seen enough devastation for one lifetime, for ten.

“Of course,” Loki concedes, though the tension doesn’t dissipate from Thor’s body. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the glint of a knife in Loki’s hand—to stab him in the back, or perhaps directly in the heart, this time.

In truth, Loki is as close to content as he’s felt in years. There’s something about this moment—the destruction in their wake, the uncertainty of their destination and the proximity of Thor’s body to his own—that sets his mind at ease, quiets the usual desperation that lingers at the edge of his thoughts. Luckily, he’s always known precisely how to calm Thor down, to distract him—his brother may be a god, but he’s still very much a man.

Loki slips down the length of his body, pausing just long enough to smirk up at Thor, press a hand to his chest and drag a thumb deliberately across his nipple as he eases him back against the cushions. “ _Relax_ ,” he insists before lowering his head to let his tongue do the rest of the talking.

“Fuck, _Loki_ ,” Thor gasps, tripping over his brother’s name like it’s somewhere between a prayer and a curse. He pulls Loki into his lap once more to reciprocate: this is how it is with them, how it will always be, give and take, round and round, until one of them destroys the other, or until the world comes to an end—whichever comes first.

( _T_ _he latter_ , Thor thinks as he swallows the moans on the tip of Loki’s tongue, _though perhaps_ , as Loki gasps, clinging to him hard enough to bruise, to scar, _they’ve always been one and the same._ )

  


Thor greets his people with the echo of Loki’s fingerprints across his ribs, a bite along the crease of his thigh as he sits in his makeshift throne with an ache he’ll never admit, never be able to deny—just another of Asgard’s many secrets. He can feel the hum in his veins—constant, now—growing louder as Loki steps up beside him, hardly visible, positioned perfectly so all Thor can see from the corner of his eye is the edge of his smirk, the glint of his emerald gaze. _Predictable as ever_ , keeping Thor on his toes, but he recalls the way Loki shuddered beneath his touch only moments earlier, the length of his body pressed to Thor’s in the corridor just outside, and thinks _two can play at that game._

He turns his head—ostensibly to survey his companions, though his gaze lingers instead on Loki’s neck (on the bruises left behind courtesy of Thor’s tongue and the teeth he uses now to flash Loki a brilliant, blinding smile), watching the flush begin to creep into Loki’s cheeks before he turns to Korg and Miek, feeling perhaps a bit too satisfied with himself.

Two can play at that game indeed, though they’re nothing if not masters at rewriting their own rules.


End file.
